


oh the sweet dregs of love

by asweetepilogue



Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [12]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Tea, acts of love, and the result is this fic, tea is life tea is love, that changed my brain chemistry, this can be read as gen it's kind of on the way, yall read that reddit post about the guy making tea for his wife?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/pseuds/asweetepilogue
Summary: Geralt doesn't like tea unless Jaskier makes it for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957933
Comments: 13
Kudos: 200





	oh the sweet dregs of love

**Author's Note:**

> for flufftober #29, tea

Geralt had never been much of a tea drinker. As far as he was concerned, tea usually came in a medicinal setting and was packed with pungent herbs that made his nose itch. It reminded him too much of his potions, so in general he stuck to watered down ale and water and was happy enough with that. It wasn’t something he felt he was missing out on, until Jaskier came along.

Jaskier adored tea, both for the taste and the ceremony of it. He drank it every morning with unfailing consistency, unless Geralt forced them to move on before they could boil some water. That was, Geralt quickly learned, a mistake, as Jaskier would be sullen and sleepy eyed all through the morning and into the afternoon. Something about the routine of making the tea and the little burst of caffeine left him ready to tackle the day, and without it he was a shambling mess. Geralt supposed it might be similar to his own morning stretches and exercises, though it didn’t feel quite the same. 

Even so, Geralt adjusted his schedule early on to accommodate the habit, learning to start the fire and get the water boiling before Jaskier awoke. Jaskier would roll out of bed and crawl over to his pack, clumsy and pleasantly disheveled from sleep, to pull out the little waterproof pouch that he kept the tea in. Some northern blend, Geralt wasn’t sure. It was sweet smelling, with the slightest hint of bergamot. A comforting smell that clung to Jaskier for a few hours after he’d finished brewing it and sometimes made its way into pockets of Geralt’s clothes. The bard would pour the boiling water into two chipped ceramic mugs that he carried for this purpose alone, and a few moments later he would drop in the tea. One cup he would take for himself, and the other was left for Geralt.

Because, much to Geralt’s bewilderment, Jaskier insisted on making tea for both of them, even if Geralt had never once shown any interest. The one time Geralt had said, “What is this for, Jaskier?” the bard had just shrugged and said, “Rude not to make the other person a cup, I expect.” And that had been that.

For the first few weeks of this Geralt had ignored the proffered mug, going through his morning routine uninterrupted. But every time Jaskier picked up the cold cup to toss the tea aside he looked a little more glum about it, and it wore down Geralt’s reserve. One morning he finally cracked, tentatively picking up the mug from its spot near his bedroll while Jaskier was looking away, busy tending to their packs. It had cooled down a bit while Geralt went about his own business, but it was still warm when he took the first sip. 

It was… good, he had to admit. Surprising. He’d tried northern teas before, but this one didn’t seem to carry as much bite as the ones he’d had in the past. Geralt’s palate was sensitive, both from his heightened sense of smell and due to personal tastes. The herbals that he’d had in the past had always been too complex and earthy, and the dark teas had left a bitter taste on the back of his tongue for hours. This, though, was lighter and sweeter, with just that bare hint of citrus that blossomed across his tongue after he swallowed. It was sweet, too, flavored with a bit of the honey Jaskier kept in a jar wrapped up in cheesecloth. It was good. 

So Geralt started drinking the tea Jaskier made him, and Jaskier was clearly delighted but not about to say so, and it became a bit of a routine. Geralt liked tea now. He was someone who drank tea. It wasn’t a big deal; not even something he really made a mental note of. It only started to register as odd when he started trying to drink it in other settings. 

First, a tavern in Cunny of the Goose outside of Novigrad, the morning after an intense night of drinking. They’d shuffled miserably up to the bar, both of them hungover as shit, and Jaskier had said, “And a couple of teas, if you don’t mind?” The innkeep had nodded and handed over the cups along with the plates of boiled eggs and day old bread. Geralt had taken a swig and nearly spit out the offending concoction, wincing at the acrid taste. It was strong, the bitter taste making him want to gag - not ideal in his current state. Geralt pushed the cup as far away from him as possible and picked at his food, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Jaskier. 

Then, in a healer’s tent after a hunt gone wrong. He’d tried unsuccessfully for hours to meditate, trying to drop into a healing trance that would help him get a handle on both his physical and emotional turmoil. Jaskier lay on the cot next to him, breathing raggedly as he recovered from a laceration in his side that he’d gotten from an archespore. A young woman with a kind face who smelled only marginally of fear caught his attention and offered him a steaming mug. Geralt accepted gratefully, eager for any distraction or comfort. The liquid scalded his tongue when he took his first sip, overly sweet. Geralt forced himself to drink half and couldn’t stomach the rest. The mug sat abandoned beside him until Jaskier woke. 

And again, after he’d parted ways with Jaskier for the winter, stopping to see Triss on his way back up north. She offered him a cup in the evening as they sat before her roaring fireplace to catch up, and he’d agreed. He missed Jaskier’s morning tea - Geralt had been left with a small pouch of his own as a gift, but he couldn’t get it right. It was always too strong or not sweet enough or he messed up the timing and the water was too cold. Triss’ tea was close, but there was some other herb mixed in that made the whole cup taste a little bit like Swallow. Geralt set it down still mostly full and focused on the conversation. 

It took months, well after their reunion in the spring and weeks of traveling south, for Jaskier to mention it. 

“Aren’t you going to finish?” he asked, nodding towards Geralt’s untouched cup. They were at another inn, the cool, damp air of Temeria in spring wafting through the open window near their table. Jaskier was pleasantly rumpled looking despite his best preening, having slept hard the night before after performing. They were in town for a festival that Jaskier had been invited to play at, staying for a few days. Things would pick up again in the evening, but right now the bottom floor of the inn was still quiet with the haze of sleep. Jaskier peered at him suspiciously before being seized by a huge yawn, jaw cracking. Geralt couldn’t stop a smile from stealing across his lips. His fingers nudged the cup of tea in Jaskier’s direction. 

“Don’t care for it,” Geralt said. “You can have it if you like.”

Jaskier picked the cup up and sniffed it once before taking a sip. He gave Geralt a quizzical look. “It tastes fine. I thought you liked the Redanian Blossom? It’s the same blend we always have.”

The tea in Jaskier’s hands wasn’t the same though. It was a little too dark, and they’d used syrup instead of honey for sweetener. “I don’t like it when anyone else makes it.” In his head it seemed like an innocent statement, but Jaskier’s eyes flickered up to meet his with a startled expression, the cup still held halfway up to his mouth. “Uh.”

Jaskier stared at him in silence long enough to make Geralt profoundly uncomfortable, and then he broke out into a wide grin. “Oh, you need the Jaskier touch, hmm? I do think I add something special to the mix. A certain _je ne sais quoi_? My passion for art extends to the art of tea, you know. I make it with love.” 

Geralt flushed, just a bit, but the look Jaskier was giving him was purely cheeky. Rolling his eyes, Geralt said, “It’s just _tea_. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Try and stop me,” Jaskier said, and Geralt didn’t think he could if he tried. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this one! short and sweet. I'm a huge tea drinker myself and whenever someone makes me a cup it speaks directly to my love language. Geralt doesn't seem like the type to indulge, but Jaskier does, and maybe he drags Geralt into that just a bit. 
> 
> come chat with me on tumblr! I'm always taking prompts~ [asweetprologue](asweetprologue.tumblr.com)


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